


Lit Up From Within

by Black_Betty



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Activism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Charles in glasses, M/M, Pining, Requited Love, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Betty/pseuds/Black_Betty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Erik is the leader of an activist group on campus, Charles is tutoring him, feelings are revealed, and "studying" becomes a euphemism for something altogether more enjoyable...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lit Up From Within

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the little moment of confused introspection in this photoset on tumblr: 
> 
> http://ang3lsh1.tumblr.com/post/51515347158/ikeracity-synekdokee-theletteraesc
> 
> along with that small, insidious prompt by aesc :D 
> 
> Now (sort-of) edited! Horray! (With amazing and wonderfully fitting poetry courtesy of Margaret Atwood)

 

_Eating fire_

_is your ambition:_

_to swallow the flame down_

_take it into your mouth_

_and shoot it forth, a shout or an incandescent_

_tongue, a word_

_exploding from you in gold, crimson_

_unrolling in a brilliant scroll_

 

_To be lit up from within_

_vein by vein_

 

_To be the sun_

 

Charles had just finished copying down the key to microbiome sequencing he would need for the final exam when a frantic flurry of motion from the doorway to the lecture hall caught his attention. There was Erik, waving at him through the window of the door and grinning with all his teeth.

 _Study?_  He mouthed, and then made a strange gesture that Charles took to mean  _After Class?_  Charles nodded quickly and without thinking, as he did when it came to all things involving Erik Lehnsherr, but after Erik flashed him a thumbs up and disappeared, the rational part of Charles’ brain caught up with him.

_Wait, what?_

Erik and Charles had found each other through Raven. When she had joined Charles at University, one year behind, Raven had almost immediately become a member of a social activist group on campus. For weeks Charles heard nothing from Raven’s mouth that wasn’t some rallying cry Erik Lehnsherr, her new messiah, had thought up and branded on her brain. Though Charles wasn’t entirely sure Erik wasn’t some new Manson-esque cult leader, he could not deny that Raven was more focused and more happy than she’d ever been. Regardless of what she thought, it had hurt Charles to see his sister before, drifting and frustrated, full of a repressed anger that had no outlet.

So when Raven mentioned to Charles that Erik was looking for someone to tutor him in his mandatory English credit, Charles had agreed, if only to meet the infamous Erik Lehnsherr, who made his sister so happy, and whose mandates about aboriginal rights, compost and clean energy, liberation from gender stereotypes and the abolishment of parameters around identity and sexuality Charles had been forced to listen to for weeks and weeks.

When he met Erik, he expected to hate him.

He found instead that he would come to worship him, in his own way.

They disagreed on nearly everything. Not the soul heart of Erik’s politics, but rather his methods; the aggression, the radicalism. Charles believed in education, legislative reform, peaceful protest, and yet, instead of feeling angry or rebuffed when Erik scoffed and rolled his eyes at what he referred to as Charles’ “naivety,” he felt inspired. Alive. Never had he been pushed so far, forced to defend his own beliefs, and it excited him as much as it frustrated him.

But beyond their long debates, Charles couldn’t help but notice the bright light in Erik when he argued his points, elegant hands moving as he sculpted castles in the air and then broke them down to rubble. Found his gaze ensnared by the spark of blue in Erik’s eyes, the way his body tensed as he leaned forward into Charles’ space to impress a point upon him. Erik was gorgeous yes, was composed of an aesthetic beauty that could have been carved from alabaster stone, the lines of his face so astonishing that Charles had been momentarily breathless when Raven first introduced them.

But what was truly beautiful about Erik was his passion; for the cause, but also for life, for people who were different, for a world in which equality might be hammered out piece by piece with strength and determination. There was a fire in him the likes of which Charles had never seen, and he was drawn to it, the fear of being burned constantly at war with the hope that he might be engulfed by Erik's flame. That the old parts of himself, the fear, the timidity, the closed doors and unspoken longing, might be burned away.

Somewhere in all of that he helped Erik with his English. And Erik, who was brilliant when he took a moment to apply himself, had already written all of his exams, and would surely pass with flying colours.

So why was Erik asking him to study  _now_?

A sudden eruption of movement shook him from his thoughts as the class clamored out of their chairs, streaming down the aisle and out the door. He realized he had daydreamed through the end of Doctor MacTaggert’s lecture. He glanced over at Hank who rolled his eyes, and passed him a couple loose sheets of paper, his notes from the last fifteen minutes of class.

Charles tucked them safely away in his notebook with a rueful smile. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be getting any work done tonight.

***

Later, Charles found himself sitting on Erik’s sagging couch, watching Erik move gracefully through his tiny kitchen as he poured red wine into two chipped mugs. When he finally handed one over to Charles and settled himself into the couch next to him, Charles drank a mouthful for fortification before blurting out,

“Erik, what is this?”

Erik had no books on the table, no papers or pens or anything that might suggest even the pretense of studying. The TV was on, but muted, and the florescent colours flicked over Erik face as he lounged, far too close to Charles, one arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers toying with the frayed fabric there.

“What is what?” He asked, and his lips curled up at one corner, amused and secretive. Charles couldn’t help the feeling that Erik was sharing a private joke Charles didn’t know the punch line to, and he felt abruptly nervous and off-balance. He took another mouthful of wine, but typically inelegant swallowed too much, and felt it spill out his mouth and down his chin, dribbling from the corners of his lips.

Cheeks flaming uncontrollably, he tried to lick up the spilled droplets but suddenly Erik’s hand was there, his thumb pressed below the swell of Charles' bottom lip, wiping at the stain of red there. Charles could only watch wide-eyed as Erik gazed at him thoughtfully, and then leaned in as natural as breathing and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

Charles felt his body jerk uncontrollably and he clutched at his mug so hard he thought it might crack. He wanted to reciprocate, wanted to grasp at Erik and touch him in all of the forbidden dreamed of places he had longed to touch for months now, but the kiss was over before he could force his brain back into motion.

Erik pulled back and Charles only just stopped himself from making a desperate sound, or a plea for another kiss, just one more, to let him prove himself worthy. But Erik only took Charles’ mug from his white knuckled hands and set it along with his own down on the coffee table before turning back to Charles and plunging in again.

Now without the barrier of their drinks, Erik was able to press close, to tangle the long fingers Charles had admired for so many months into Charles' hair, twisting and pulling him closer. And Charles, now over his initial shock, was able to tilt his head just so, to part his lips and allow Erik’s tongue to lick into his mouth with a groan, to curl his own fingers into the worn material of Erik’s t-shirt.

His brain was buzzing with arousal, but even as Erik leaned on him, easing him down onto his back and sprawling over him with the entire delicious length of his body, Charles couldn’t stop the insidious doubt from spilling into the corners of his mind.

He knew the type of person Erik liked. Raven, for example, was exactly the type of person Erik liked, with her dyed blue dreadlocks and the tattoo of the goddess Kali inscribed across her chest, her indignation voiced loud and proud and fearlessly through any number of megaphone speakers. Charles had seen the endless parade of men and women who flocked to Erik, who prostrated themselves at his feet, beautiful and effortlessly cool, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, ink-stained and pierced with metal, righteous and sardonic and defiant in the fact of injustice.

Charles was nobody. Charles tried to fit in, but refused to give up his own principles to do it, and so was generally ignored or overlooked. Charles came from money and was unable to escape the scorn of the 99%, even though he had been wearing second-hand clothes he found in the Goodwill down the street from his apartment ever since Kurt had cut him off. Charles was too posh, too soft-spoken, to willing to be gentle, to be kind. 

The people Charles usually slept with were men almost twice his age with a bit of a kink for a sweet-faced boy who looked sixteen, but was actually the safe and legal age of twenty-one, or colleagues within the science department who were willing to over look his bad pick-up lines for his hard earned talent with his mouth and his hands.

As Erik kissed him harder, deeper, sliding his hands up the back of Charles’ sweater along his spine, moaning when it made Charles whine and arch up against him, all Charles could think was that Erik was a rare and exotic kind of bird, with a wingspan so vast he rarely touched down to earth. Charles was nothing but a sparrow, plain and dull brown. What right did a sparrow have to something so singular, so untouchable?

“Erik,” he gasped against Erik’s mouth, breaking them apart for air and a desperate moment of clarity, “what  _is_  this?”

Erik’s hand went to Charles’ hip, urging him into a rhythm that rubbed his cock, already hard and aching, against the firm muscle of Erik’s thigh. Charles groaned loudly and uncontrollably, the sound cutting off into a gasp when Erik lowered his head to suck a kiss just below the hinge of Charles’ jaw.

Charles tried to maintain his train of thought, difficult when Erik started to grind his own body against Charles, layering kiss after kiss down his throat, and managed to sputter,

“Erik—“

Erik made a noise deep in his throat that sounded like a growl, his breath hot as he murmured against Charles' skin,

“I’m thanking you…for all your help with the studying…”

Oh.

It was as though someone had clicked the off switch in Charles’ brain. All the pleasure, all the heat drained away, and even with Erik still lying on top of him, just as firm and gorgeous as he had always imagined, he only felt cold.

Erik must have sensed the change because he leaned back and asked,

“Charles?” but Charles was already sitting up and pushing him away. Erik sat back and when Charles glanced up at him, fixing glasses that had been knocked askew, the expression on his face was entirely confused.

“What is it?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair to disguise how it was shaking and tried on a smile,

“That’s okay,” he said, proud of how his voice only barely registered the fact that his heart was squeezing itself into a dry and shriveled raisin, “you don’t have to do this to thank me—you barely even needed my help, Erik.”

Erik’s expression shifted from confusion to something else, and he reached a hand out hastily, placing it on Charles knee where it was tucked up against the back of the couch.

“Oh, Charles no—that’s not what I meant—“

The hurt rose up inside of his chest, and he couldn’t stop the next words from coming out flavoured in bitterness,

“You don’t need to…just because I helped you out, you don’t need to have pity sex with me. You’re Raven’s friend and she asked me to help you, so I did. No problem.”

“Pity sex?” Erik burst out, incredulous and fiery as he always was, “Is that what you think this is?”

Charles huffed, exasperated,

“Erik, I’ve seen the people you usually sleep with, you can’t tell me you aren’t deigning to do me a favour with...” he gestured between the two of them. Very suddenly he wanted to get up, to get out of this apartment and away from Erik. He felt as though his dignity was only loosely held together with a couple of pins, and if he said anything else he was going to shatter into pieces, and Erik would never speak to him again.

Straightening his sweater, he moved to get off the couch, muttering about the late hour, and how he would go, it’s fine, no harm done. Before he could get far, Erik’s hand was around his wrist.

“Charles,” he said, his voice low and serious. Charles peeked up at him from below the frames of glasses that were slowly sliding down his nose. His mouth was set in a tight line, as though carved from stone. Even now Charles wanted to press his mouth against it, kiss it until it was lax and pliant again.

He didn’t. He sat and waited for Erik to continue, his body torn between a desire to flee and a longing to throw himself into Erik’s arms and take whatever he was willing to give him.

“All those people you’re talking about, they’re not you.”

Charles sighed,

“Yes, of course, that’s my point—“

Erik shook his head and reached out with his other hand, grabbing hold of Charles shoulder and turning him to face him directly,

“I don’t want them, Charles, I only want you. How can you not know that?”

Charles gaped at him, breathless, without words, a buzzing in his ears as though all the sound in the room had been sucked out,

“Wha…what?” He sputtered, and Erik shook his head,

“I’m sorry I said that, about thanking you, I was joking—-but Charles, I’ve wanted to do this for  _weeks_.”

Charles couldn’t think of a thing to say, his brain busy reorganizing every single interaction he had ever had with Erik, relabeling and re-contextualizing all of their interactions, trying to discover some kind of empirical evidence to support a hypothesis that Erik wanted him, and not only that, but wanted him above all others.

Erik must have seen him struggling because his voice was gentle, more gentle than Charles had ever heard it when he said,

“All of those people, whoever you’re talking about, yes they agree with me and they support my ideals, and they are ready and willing to do whatever I ask. But I’m not looking for a follower Charles, I’m looking for an equal—someone who is going to call me out on my bullshit…someone who challenges me to be  _better_.”

He gave Charles a pointed look, and Charles was only able to gape at him. When he finally found his voice, he choked out,

“Me?”

Erik rolled his eyes, familiar and, yes--now Charles could see finally see it, undeniably fond,

“Yes you idiot. Now can I kiss you?”

***

After that the night spiraled into something Charles had only ever thought of as a dream. Naked skin pressed close, Erik’s hand around him, jerking him through an orgasm that seemed to pull from the tips of his toes, telling him how beautiful he was, how perfect. Later they pressed together again in the vast mesa of Erik’s bed, Erik holding him close and thrusting inside him, the two of them sharing the same air, silent except for the sound of their bodies touching, of a shuddering intake of breath.

Charles could only look up at Erik, meet his eyes and wonder at the depth of emotion he could see there. Erik above him, around him, the smell and taste of him everywhere, and Charles could see the fire in him close and hot like he hadn’t been able to before. And finally, Charles was caught in that fire, but he was not burnt, nor reduced to ash. He was elevated, he was aflame, and together the two of them burned brighter than ever before.

 

 

 


End file.
